Three Signa
THREE
S IGNA
Signa knew that, in theory, there were not meant to be any spirits in Wisteria Gardens.
Death had helped Aris choose this land, perched upon a hill approximately a twenty-minute walk up from the city of Brude.
The move had marked the start of Blythe and Aris’s new life together.
Their new and decidedly unhaunted life. And yet how else could Signa explain the translucent young woman whose face was covered in soot?
Though the spirit had no need for breath, her chest moved as if in heavy wheezes.
She had beautiful red hair that was tucked neatly against her scalp, some of the front pieces curled beneath a giant headpiece woven with garland and a pair of thin white antlers.
The tops of them had been charred, the very tip of one singed off so that the antlers appeared almost lopsided.
The spirit wore a flouncy powder-pink dress that was shaped like a bell and shortened to her stockinged calves, the color strikingly vibrant.
The bodice was cut low and adorned with silver lace and sparkling filigree, and on her feet she wore matching slippers.
It seemed a costume of some sort, and a gaudy one at that.
The spirit assessed Signa’s every move, though her attention eventually wandered to Aris.
She giggled at the sight of him, smoothing her hair and dress all while Aris lounged on the chaise, oblivious.
He had one foot kicked over the opposite knee and was dragging a hand down his face to smother his groan.
“Tell me that what I think is happening is not actually happening,” he said.
For the umpteenth time in her life, Signa found herself wishing that the people around her shared in her ability to see spirits.
It would have been especially helpful with Aris, considering he might be able to recognize one from his tapestries.
Or, at the very least, their peculiar fashions.
As it was, even the spirit was growing frustrated with his obliviousness, pouting as she attempted to get his attention.
“If you’re thinking that there’s a spirit in here with us, then I’m afraid I cannot assuage your worries.
You would be correct.” Signa set her hand atop Gundry’s head, waiting to see how the hound might respond to their visitor.
He was alert, but his hackles continued to lay flat, which was enough for her to take a cautious step toward the spirit.
She stepped backward immediately, eyes wide. “You can see me?”
The spirit’s voice was higher than expected, and thick with an accent.
Over the years, Signa had realized it didn’t matter what language a spirit spoke—she’d always be able to understand them.
She would have liked to know more about this woman, but one had to be cautious when interacting with a spirit.
They may not have seemed malicious, but spirits were temperamental creatures.
No better than toddlers, really, set off at the drop of a hat.
And Signa had far too many gifts that were in need of wrapping to risk a possession.
“Yes, I can see you,” she admitted, keeping a careful distance. “What is your name?”
“My name.” The spirit echoed the words several times, though they were never spoken as a question.
Rather, it was as if she was testing the words out, uncertain what she thought of them.
In the end, the spirit gave no answer, and asked instead, “ Have you seen Jules? He was supposed to be here by now. I have looked for him everywhere. ”
“What on this blasted earth is happening?” Aris had tipped his head to watch the scene, squinting in the way people always did when they knew there was a spirit nearby, as if changing the shape of their eyes might somehow allow them to perceive it.
Aris was one of the worst offenders, for it seemed there was little he liked less in life than being on the outskirts.
But the only thing he’d accomplish by squinting so hard was a headache.
Signa ignored him. “I’m afraid I don’t know a Jules, though I can help you look for him. When did you last see him?”
“Yesterday.” The spirit skimmed her fingers over the headpiece. It looked remarkably heavy. “I saw everyone yesterday.”
Signa very much doubted that but said nothing to correct her. She watched as the spirit paced around the room in her strange headdress and layers of tulle, brow creasing and smoothing as she seemingly searched for this mysterious Jules.
“Yesterday,” Signa repeated. “And what did you say your name was?”
The spirit’s face screwed tight, then relaxed a second later.
Again, she did not answer the question. Likely, Signa thought, because she didn’t remember.
Signa had discovered recently that the longer a spirit roamed the earth, the more difficulty they had with their communication.
It made her wonder how long the spirit had been here suffering this loop—a few decades, perhaps?
It couldn’t have been too long given that she was still capable of speech, even if it was a bit nonsensical.
“ The door was stuck ,” muttered the spirit, who was no longer looking at Signa, seeming to grow lost in her thoughts. “How else was he to get inside when the door was stuck?” And then the spirit turned sharply toward Signa, whose spine stiffened. “Have you seen Jules?”
“Jules?”
Signa nearly jolted at the sound of a male voice behind her.
She spun to see a second figure meandering among the bookshelves, dragging his transparent finger down a row of spines.
This one wore a doublet of periwinkle, with white tights that left little of his form to the imagination.
His skin had been powdered white, cheeks and lips blushed pink, and he wore a pale blond periwig that curled upward at the edges.
The tips of the periwig looked almost like they’d been frosted with snow. “Might I be Jules?”
Oh good lord. Signa frowned as the first spirit glided over to this new one, inspecting him. Side by side, they looked as if they’d been magicked out of the same sugary fairy tale. “No, I do not think you are. You don’t look like Jules.”
“ Oh ,” said the man. “Very well. Then could you tell me who I am?”
“Stop wasting time standing around! Get to your places, all of you!”
A third spirit? Signa covered her mouth, taking a hopeless seat beside Aris on the arm of the chaise.
This time it was an older woman who stood beside the Christmas tree as she clapped her hands for everyone’s attention.
She did not wear a strange costume but luxurious silks that matched those worn by the bespectacled man who stood beside her, presumably her husband.
He stared up at the tree, appearing entirely disinterested in the situation at hand.
The woman clapped again, then looked pointedly at the first spirit, who flinched beneath her stare. “Where is Jules?”
The spirit shrank. “I don’t know… I’ve been looking for him all day.”
“Then look harder. You cannot go out there without him.”
The first spirit gave a quiet whimper, her bottom lip wobbling.
But then she zipped away to the shelves, continuing her search.
Every now and then she would ask someone about Jules, and a new voice would crop up.
One by one spirits emerged from the shelves and floorboards and ceiling, each one in the most ridiculous attire: tights tufted with fur and antlers for headpieces.
Deep green gowns and cheeks as red as holly.
Young girls whose pink tulle reminded Signa of fairies.
Many had soot covering their skin, and dear God…
were those burn marks? On one spirit, it looked as though her tulle had melted into her leg.
Signa gritted her teeth as she looked at Aris, who had his arms folded over his chest.
“Well?” he huffed. “Have you figured out how to get rid of it?”
What a strange loop these spirits were stuck in, each of these people entirely unaware that they were dead.
One of the spirits stopped when he noticed the wrapping paper Signa had been using.
He stooped to pick up the ribbons beside it, strewing them through the air.
One landed atop Aris’s head and he hissed.
“Good God! Can you not simply help it to pass on?”
“There is no it , Aris.” Signa pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to focus her thoughts. “I count at least a dozen spirits from where I sit. I hate to be the one who tells you this, but your home is haunted.”
He sat upright, golden fire blazing in his eyes. It was a relief that Aris had calmed over the years; had the anger and pain of thinking he had lost his wife forever continued to fester within him, he could very well have burned the entire world one day.
“My rotten brother helped choose this land,” Aris seethed. “If he wasn’t already dead, I would kill the fool myself.”
It was strange that Death had said nothing about the spirits. Had he somehow not noticed them? Wisteria had been on this land for nearly two weeks already, and Signa had spent at least an hour working in the library before they showed themselves.
“I’ll see what he knows,” Signa offered, sliding into the seat beside him as Aris impatiently drummed his fingers on the cushion. “But first you must cease your glaring.”
He groaned and looked pointedly away from her, jaw tense.
Only then was she able to settle into her mind.
She thought of Death, lingering on his memory until she felt the bond that existed between them.
Mentally she pulled on it, opening her thoughts to his.
She knew immediately when he was there listening, able to feel the comforting weight of his presence in the corners of her mind.
Hello, Little Bird , his thoughts whispered to hers. Finished with your wrapping?
Not entirely. Signa shared the words with him. I’m afraid your brother and I are under siege. The library has been overrun by more than a dozen spirits.
Spirits? he echoed. How very odd. His tone, however, did not match his words, for Death didn’t sound nearly as surprised as he ought to.
Odd is certainly one word for the situation. She had to squint her eyes shut to focus, already able to feel Aris’s stare searing into her skin. He truly was the perfect fit for Blythe—who else could match her nosiness? Did you not realize there were so many spirits here?
I never would have let Aris move to land where I felt the presence of hostile spirits.
She had no doubt of that, though she couldn’t help but take note of his careful language. Come here, then. Perhaps we can help some of them pass on before Blythe takes notice.
The silence in her mind was too drawn out. Too damning. Signa pressed her lips tight, waiting for Death’s eventual response: I’m afraid I cannot join you at the moment.
Her eyes snapped open. Aris looked away immediately, and Signa bit the inside of her cheek to quell her annoyance. She made her mind hot, hoping Death could feel every ounce of her brewing frustration. What do you mean you cannot help? Where are you?
If Death felt her anger, he gave no sign of it. In fact, he seemed distracted. She felt little from him other than a desire to hurry and break free from this connection.
I’m out collecting a gift for my brother. Signa was about to argue when he continued. It may take me several days to retrieve, but I’ll check in with you in the evenings.
Several days? Signa demanded. And what do you suppose I do about these spirits in the meantime?
Stay in the house , he told her. Was she imagining it, or did he sound amused? The spirits aren’t malicious. As for what to do about them… you are not new to this, Little Bird. I have faith that you can handle this until I return.
If Aris didn’t kill him, Signa would. She snapped their connection shut with a huff.
“What is it? Did Sylas know something?”
“He’s off gathering Christmas presents.” She kept her tone flat as she pushed up from her seat, smoothing out the wrinkles in her dress.
Across the room, Gundry was doing laps around the Christmas tree, tongue lolling as he darted back and forth among the spirits, who were restarting their loop once more.
“Jules? Might I be Jules…?”
Signa tuned the voices out. So long as the hound was happy, she felt confident that there was at least no immediate danger.
“Death will not be helping us,” she told her brother at last, squaring her shoulders as she met his searing golden gaze. “It seems that you and I are on our own.”